12-13-2018, 08:50 PM
Man, life had been a real bugger as of late. Marina spontaneously vanishes, leaving the insecure Bucky at Sunhaven’s vulnerable helm. What’s more, the empowered fluffy feline then proceeds to demote the wolverine from his positions of power three weeks straight - not that Wendell was upset about it, of course. Those were military positions, they were, and if a conflict were to impulsively arise from the dust, he was supposed to be one of the first responders. This bumped his values’ heads together, in a very nasty way. For once in his short, distressed life, the Brit clung onto a position of power over others, and the importance of oneself it brought. On the other hand, a position of power potentially meant confrontations and strife, both of which not exactly being his strong suit. Anybody that knew Wendell on even an acquaintance-level of interaction understood that the chipper mustelid absolutely despised bad blood of any sorts.
Friction between rival parties never caused more good than bad; when taking Wendell’s existence into account, this was exceptionally true. Friendly debates were a-okay, but arguments, fusses, and other verbal disputes, his fragile shell for the soul could hardly take any of it. However, the stress given forth from oral altercations was nothing on the burden placed on his weak shoulders by physical engagements. Even the slightest mention of a past disunity can tighten his throat and hold it in an iron grasp, simply because of how much shit life threw at his optimistic mug.
Snowbound was his original home. The powder-coated valley, the hot chocolate, the friendly faces, the heavy emphasis on peace and kindness, it concocted the perfect brew for someone of Wendell’s principles. Then, the Pitt came along and took over, causing Wendell to flee to his current residence. As he had been told by the group’s former leader, Atbash, the Pitt had been driven away, but only to ultimately return and set the snowy stomping grounds ablaze. That was not where his virginity to tragedy and trauma was lost - his pureness had been displaced years ago. Though, the horrifying events that transpired at his previous abode burned fiercely in his mind, still shaping the man, mouldings him into a clay sculpture of cowardice and discomposure.
Right when the flames began dimming down a bit, some inter-tribe drama was birthed between the Ascendants and Sunhaven. And, right when the newfound stress obscured itself into a state of oblivion, Mother Nature aims for the balls, and chucks a killer flood at the slowly-recovering group.
By the point of the first snowfall, whilst the Christmas decorations and music made the scene, the dread died down once more. The extravagant red and green lights, the pine-tinged wreaths, they served as jubilant distractions from reality.
Yet, as the Brit learned from experience, life has a push-and-pull factor. As soon as you’ve been pushed into the good, you get pulled right back into the bad. Never has there ever existed harmony, despite the constant efforts made by many.
In this case, the festive season pushed Wendell into a positive mood, a positive stance on life. A gargantuan lion named Stryker came along and fucked that up, unfortunately.
As he woke, the burning scent of moistureless air entering his system, his breaths became quite shaky has his chocolate hues peered into the neon ones that had caused so much anguish. A brief cry exited his system, one sounding a lot more like a tuned exhale, while the mammal analyzed the situation he was in. Indeed it was quite the situation. He wasn’t leaving here alive. The deuce, lion and wolverine, have had quite the history in regards to one another. The overgrown feline had taken Wendell’s home, but failed in maintaining an iron fist over the male. Judging by how heartless he knew the miscreant to be, this very spot, in front of a crowd even, would be his bloody undoing. Ah well, best to give the audience a hell of a show.
"Y-You finally caught me... at long last," he’d nervously remark, his unstable reaching various highs and lows as he spoke, ”just tell me what you want t’ do t’ me, and I’ll happily oblige, you obdurate fuck.”
In no way was he threatening Stryker with these insults; they were his strategy in getting what he wanted. If he was brought out to the public’s eye, then there was obviously going to be a little torturing going on. Hence, the creature theorized that by backtalking him, perhaps his demise could come at least a bit quicker.
Friction between rival parties never caused more good than bad; when taking Wendell’s existence into account, this was exceptionally true. Friendly debates were a-okay, but arguments, fusses, and other verbal disputes, his fragile shell for the soul could hardly take any of it. However, the stress given forth from oral altercations was nothing on the burden placed on his weak shoulders by physical engagements. Even the slightest mention of a past disunity can tighten his throat and hold it in an iron grasp, simply because of how much shit life threw at his optimistic mug.
Snowbound was his original home. The powder-coated valley, the hot chocolate, the friendly faces, the heavy emphasis on peace and kindness, it concocted the perfect brew for someone of Wendell’s principles. Then, the Pitt came along and took over, causing Wendell to flee to his current residence. As he had been told by the group’s former leader, Atbash, the Pitt had been driven away, but only to ultimately return and set the snowy stomping grounds ablaze. That was not where his virginity to tragedy and trauma was lost - his pureness had been displaced years ago. Though, the horrifying events that transpired at his previous abode burned fiercely in his mind, still shaping the man, mouldings him into a clay sculpture of cowardice and discomposure.
Right when the flames began dimming down a bit, some inter-tribe drama was birthed between the Ascendants and Sunhaven. And, right when the newfound stress obscured itself into a state of oblivion, Mother Nature aims for the balls, and chucks a killer flood at the slowly-recovering group.
By the point of the first snowfall, whilst the Christmas decorations and music made the scene, the dread died down once more. The extravagant red and green lights, the pine-tinged wreaths, they served as jubilant distractions from reality.
Yet, as the Brit learned from experience, life has a push-and-pull factor. As soon as you’ve been pushed into the good, you get pulled right back into the bad. Never has there ever existed harmony, despite the constant efforts made by many.
In this case, the festive season pushed Wendell into a positive mood, a positive stance on life. A gargantuan lion named Stryker came along and fucked that up, unfortunately.
As he woke, the burning scent of moistureless air entering his system, his breaths became quite shaky has his chocolate hues peered into the neon ones that had caused so much anguish. A brief cry exited his system, one sounding a lot more like a tuned exhale, while the mammal analyzed the situation he was in. Indeed it was quite the situation. He wasn’t leaving here alive. The deuce, lion and wolverine, have had quite the history in regards to one another. The overgrown feline had taken Wendell’s home, but failed in maintaining an iron fist over the male. Judging by how heartless he knew the miscreant to be, this very spot, in front of a crowd even, would be his bloody undoing. Ah well, best to give the audience a hell of a show.
"Y-You finally caught me... at long last," he’d nervously remark, his unstable reaching various highs and lows as he spoke, ”just tell me what you want t’ do t’ me, and I’ll happily oblige, you obdurate fuck.”
In no way was he threatening Stryker with these insults; they were his strategy in getting what he wanted. If he was brought out to the public’s eye, then there was obviously going to be a little torturing going on. Hence, the creature theorized that by backtalking him, perhaps his demise could come at least a bit quicker.